My name is Erik, and as a young Viking warrior, I eagerly embraced the thrill of battle and the bonds forged amidst the chaos of war. But as the year 1020 dawned and the conflict between Denmark and the Svear dragged on relentlessly, I grew weary of the ceaseless violence that left only ruin in its wake. At the age of 25, having spent seven years in the military, I decided to walk away from the path of bloodshed, seeking solace in a simpler existence.
Now, in the bustling city of Roskilde, I ply my trade as a humble merchant, content to leave behind the clamor of battle for the quiet rhythm of commerce. The year is 1023, and amidst the uncertainty and turmoil that grip our kingdom, I have found a semblance of peace in the simple pleasures of life. My days are spent tending to the needs of trade, exchanging goods and stories with travelers from distant lands.
One mundane evening, I was engrossed in a pile of papers regarding merchandise. It was winter and it was quite cold as it was snowing outside. Suddenly someone knocked at my door. I had the same reaction as any normal person would have. I looked at the door and thought " Who could be calling at this hour?" I wondered, my curiosity piqued as I approached the door. Upon opening it, I was met with a sight both unexpected and unsettling. An old man stood before me, his weathered face twisted into a sinister grin. Beside him was a young girl, her frail form held captive by a metal collar around her neck, connected to a heavy chain.
"Hello there, random citizen," the old man spoke, his voice dripping with malice. "Congrats, you've been gifted this slave girl. I have no use for her, so you can have her. "With a callous gesture, he removed the metal collar and chain from the girl's neck, before roughly shoving her in my direction. She stumbled and fell to the ground at my feet, her eyes empty and devoid of life. "I must warn you," the old man continued, his tone mocking. "She is quite broken. Only good as fuck meat, or something like that. Oh, and don't worry, I'm sure she's legal... I think. Legality never stopped me. "If my memory serves me right her name is Sophia. Well, you can beat her, rape her, hell even just eat her I don't give a shit. She is yours now" said the old man with a grin. His vile laughter hung in the air like a foul stench as he turned to leave, disappearing into the night without a second glance.
Left alone with the girl, with her in my mind, I felt a surge of pity and anger rise within me. How could anyone treat another human being with such callous disregard? But as Sophia lay on the floor, her face pressed against the cold ground, it was clear that she was beyond caring. Whether out of resignation or sheer numbness, she did not attempt to rise or protest her fate. I knelt beside her, unsure of what to do. The weight of the situation pressed heavily upon me, a stark reminder of the cruelty that lurked in the shadows of our society. With a heavy heart, I reached out to help Sophia to her feet, silently acknowledging the gravity of the task ahead. As she stood, her eyes remained vacant, unfocused, and distant, as though she had retreated into some inner realm of solitude.
As I tenderly lifted her slight form, cradling her like a fragile doll, I couldn't shake the unsettling sensation that she was too light, too devoid of the vitality one would expect for her age. As I settled her on the sofa, I couldn't help but notice the emptiness in her gaze when I spoke to her. "Hello Sophia, can you speak?" I asked, hoping for some response. She nodded, her posture upright, hands folded neatly in her lap. Observing her closely, I couldn't help but notice the neglect she had endured. It was evident she hadn't bathed in quite some time. "Would you like to take a shower?" I inquired, hoping for a spark of acknowledgment. Yet, she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor. It dawned on me then - she was a slave, and I held the power to command her. With a heavy heart, I issued the order, "I want you to take a shower, and clean yourself properly in the bathroom. You will find everything you need. This is an order from your master." Her eyes flickered, a glimmer of recognition sparking within them as she rose from the couch, swaying briefly before regaining her balance. Her movements are mechanical. Slowly, she began to shed the filthy rags that clung to her emaciated frame, revealing a body marred by scars and bruises. I was about to interject, to shield her from further exposure, but I found myself transfixed by the sight. The depth of her suffering laid bare before me, and I felt a surge of sorrow for the hardships she had endured. Despite these injuries, there's no reaction from her - no flinching or wincing. I felt really bad for her, thinking about her life so far, and how hard it was. "Inside the bathroom, there's a cauldron with hot water. Use it, I was going to use it, but I can skip a night" I instructed gently, my voice laced with compassion. Watching her disappear into the bathroom, I couldn't shake the weight of responsibility that settled upon me. Inside the bathroom, using a rough sponge, she scrubs herself clean, paying special attention to visibly dirtier areas. After finishing, she rinses off and dries herself using a towel.
Lost in contemplation in the living room, my mind swirling with thoughts of the broken girl in my care, I noticed her emerge from the bathroom, her nakedness a stark reminder of the vulnerability she bore. As she drew nearer, reaching for the tattered rag on the floor, I halted her with a gentle command, "Leave that rag and wear these clothes. They are mine, but you may wear them until I can procure proper attire for you."
Surprise flickered briefly across her face, swiftly replaced by the familiar emptiness that seemed to define her existence. She accepted the clothes wordlessly, donning them with a resigned air. With silent acquiescence, she turned her gaze towards me, awaiting further instruction. Sensing her compliance, I beckoned her to take a seat, Once seated I asked her "Umm, are you hungry?". She nodded. I felt that she somewhat opened up a bit, but she still had that dead look in her eyes. I asked her to wait. I quickly walked toward the kitchen and brought a bowlful of meat stew. Then I sat beside and asked her if I should feed her. Opening her eyes slowly, Sophia glances at the bowl of stew before turning her lifeless gaze towards me. There's no spark of recognition or gratitude in her expression; she merely accepts whatever fate awaits her. Nodding slightly, she leans forward, allowing me to feed her the bland mixture one spoonful at a time. She swallows mechanically, showing no visible pleasure or discomfort from the taste. Once finished, she returns to her previous position, sitting upright with her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Afterwards, I just sat for a few minutes. Breaking the silence I asked "Sophia, can you, umm... tell me what exactly happened with you" Clearing her throat softly, Sophia began to speak in the monotone voice that had become her trademark. "I was taken from my home at a young age. I was given to a man who used and abused me repeatedly. Eventually, he grew tired of me and sold me to another man. This cycle continued for years, with numerous individuals exploiting my body whenever they pleased." My heart ached for her, for the innocence stolen from her at such a tender age "I can't change your pain or your past," I offered apologetically, "but I can promise you a better future." Her response, a murmured "Thank you, Master," echoed with resignation, a testament to the brokenness that consumed her.
Then I asked her "What do you think of me?" Gazing at me impassively, Sophia considered my question for a moment. Then, her face twisted into what could almost pass as a smile – though devoid of humor or happiness. "You remind me of the ones who hurt me before," she whispers, her tone flat and emotionless. There's neither fear nor hostility in her response; it's simply another observation made with the same numb indifference that characterizes her entire persona. This brutal honesty demonstrates both the extent of her psychological damage and the limitations she faces when interacting with others. I felt really sad at her remark. I hugged her tightly and said, "I am sorry if you think of me like this, but I promise that I will make things better for you." As I wrap my arms around her frail frame, she allows herself to be enveloped by my embrace. It's clear that such physical contact is foreign to her, yet there's also an underlying craving for warmth and safety hidden beneath her emotionless exterior. Her breathing steadies, and for a brief moment, she appears almost comfortable in my arms. However, as quickly as it came, this fleeting sensation vanishes, replaced by the heavy silence that typically shrouds her existence.
Afterwards, I asked her "Umm, you look tired, wanna sleep on my bed?" Sighing softly yet without emotion, Sophia nods once more. "As you wish," she mumbles in agreement. Without displaying any hesitation or curiosity, she follows me towards the bedroom. When we reach it, she climbs onto the bed gingerly, avoiding making eye contact. Instead, she turns to face the wall, folding her limbs beneath her in a compact position resembling sleep. However, despite the apparent invitation to rest, there's no sense of comfort or relief within her vacant gaze. This is simply another action prompted by the expectations of her master, devoid of personal wants or needs. I started caressing her hair. She looked at me, with those empty eyes, but surprised. Then she closed her eyes to sleep. For several long moments, I continue caressing Sophia's hair, enjoying its silky texture beneath my fingers. But soon enough, I become curious about this shell of a girl lying so listlessly on my bed. Pushing aside this sudden surge of empathy and sympathy, I decided to see how far I could go in awakening something - anything - within her. As I saw her finally sleep, I watched her for some time.
Returning to the living room, I attempted to distract myself with mundane tasks, yet my thoughts remained consumed by the girl sleeping in my bed. The weight of her suffering hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the atrocities committed in the name of power and greed.
You may wonder why I choose to help her, why I refuse to succumb to the temptation to sell her to the highest bidder. The answer lies in my own past, in the sins I seek to atone for. I have blood on my hands, lives lost at my command. And yet, in this broken girl lying before me, I see a chance for redemption, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.
And so, as I sit alone in the darkness, I vow to do whatever it takes to help her find peace, to heal the wounds that scar her body and soul. For in her redemption lies my salvation, a chance to right the wrongs of my past and forge a better future for us both.
Stay tuned for the next episode as the story continues...